Flashback
by Mayhem21
Summary: Grif has a painful flashback during training. Season 12. Drabble.


_**Author Note** : So, I was doing a little bit of quick research for a story idea and realized there's a very good chance that in Season 12, Episode 1 we see Grif have a traumatic, PTSD-related flashback. This drabble grew from there._

* * *

"Go tell the Blue team to suck a dick and then get in position," Grif growled into the comms, making sure to give Simmons a very pointed rude gesture.

Bitters immediately replied, " _Whatever you say, Captain."_

Stalking up to the other "Captains" at the locked door to the mining facility, Grif let himself fall into the usual rhythm of bantering with Simmons. The bickering was effortless now; he didn't even need to think hard to craft the phrases and sentences to keep the discussion going. Which was good, because Grif felt like he was going to throw up.

Every step he'd taken since they'd started this training operation, he could have sworn he could smell the distinct onion-y, garlic-y scent of the poison gas the aliens had deployed on an unsuspecting colony world. Back then, even the gas mask of his combat uniform hadn't been enough to keep every bit of the poison out. The deceptively sweet smell had lingered in the filters for months.

Giving himself a small shake, Grif shoved his growing discomfort to the side and followed Caboose into the mine facility. They weren't far from their target site. They had to time this perfectly if they were going to take the facility from the fake Federal Army soldiers.

When Simmons started to have some kind of … girl- and sports-related meltdown, Grif groaned. They just had to get through this one thing. Was that too much to ask?

"Goddamn it do I have to do everything around here?" he snarled, then flicked on his comm system, broadcasting to their full teams. "Everybody get ready. We're going on my mark. 3. 2. 1."

As he counted down, Grif felt the rush of adrenalin hitting his system. His pulse pounded in his ears. The scent of onion flooded his nose. Deep red and blue clung to his vision as he pushed past Simmons and Caboose and darted around the corner, gun drawn. He could hear the pounding of their heavy boots behind him.

Four Federal Army of Chorus soldiers loomed above them, guns drawn.

Grif froze.

In an instant, the white armor of the enemy soldiers morphed into pale scales. Awkwardly braced legs echoed digitigrade, extra-joined legs.

 _Jackals._

 _Betrayed, they'd been betrayed. The caves were supposed to be safe, the Covenant had ignored them so far. God damned bastards, he'd_ _ **known**_ _they shouldn't have trusted Jones and his unit of bastards. They'd probably gone tattling, scrambling for some way to try and save_ _ **themselves**_ _._

"Every man for himself!" _Grif screamed as chaos erupted around him. White smoke trailed off the gas grenades as they soared through the air, carrying the scent of garlic. Soldiers and civilians alike screamed in terror, fleeing in every possible direction. There were too many people here, too many bands of survivors. They shouldn't have come together, shouldn't have joined up._

 _But if they split up, if they bolted in every direction, there was a chance some of them would survive, that the Covenant wouldn't get all of them._

 _Maroon flashed in the corner of his eye. Wait- that-_

 _ **Simmons.**_

" _Shield me with your bodies! It's important that I live!" He had to get Simmons out, save Simmons from the Jackals._

 _Guns fired, machines roared around them, and Grif was struggling to stay with Simmons, to guard his back. They had to get out, get out together-_

A piercing alarm buzzed and the fighting abruptly stopped.

"What the hell was that?" a woman yelled, storming up to him and Simmons and…

"Oh, we stopped." Caboose almost sounded disappointed-

 _Caboose hadn't been on the colony…_

"What is the point of these training exercises if you people aren't going to work together?"

 _Training exercises…_

 _This… this wasn't the colony…_

Before him, the howling Jackals seemed to vanish, leaving ordinary, armor humans in their wake.

"But we did! We had team names and everything!" Simmons protested.

Grif felt like his brain rebooting. Chorus. The New Republic. Training.

"Grif was gold!" Caboose added on the heels of Simmons' declaration.

"Orange!" Grif snapped as he struggled to clear his head. The retort was automatic and easy. Just like… they'd been bantering earlier, before the fight-

There'd never been Jackals here, had there? Cringing inside at how easily he'd slipped into the flashback, Grif forced himself to listen to the woman- to Kimball.

"You had a plan you were organized but once again you crumbled under pressure." With a heavy sigh, Kimball turned slightly to address some of the New Republic soldiers. "Lieutenants, debrief with your COs, everyone else, round up all training weapons and uniforms. That's enough capture the flag for today."

But debriefing meant… "Whoa, and what the hell are we supposed to say?" Grif protested."' _Hey guys, sorry you still suck. Turns out we suck too!'_ At least we have something in common."

 _(He couldn't do this.)_

Kimball shook her head, unaware of Grif's inner turmoil. "Tell them what they need to hear. Tell them that they can do this, and that next time they will be better."

Hesitantly, Simmons replied, "So, you want us to lie to them?"

"No. I don't." With that, Kimball turned and left.

A small voice spoke up from nearby. "You... wanted to talk to us, sirs?" Jensen, Grif recognized. She sounded helpless and defeated.

"I hope Tucker has it better than this," Grif sighed, feeling exhausted and strung out. All he wanted was to go hide and see if he could get his brain working right. Again.

 _This had to stop. Somehow. There had to be a way._


End file.
